Take Me

Chapter Five: Bruise

Milo rested against the door of his two bedroom apartment, eyes closed, feeling out the emptiness of the space. There was a bottle of aspirin with his name on it in the bathroom. He fought against the lingering effects of the nausea brought on by the cab driver swerving like a madman. The guy must have driven over every pothole in existence.

Even that early it had been gridlocked in most places, which was a welcome relief from the jostling ride. They had to take side streets. At one point, Milo contemplated taking the subway. But hung over? Might as well hang a “Mug Me” sign around his neck. Plus, he felt like a drowned rat. The last thing he needed was the press of countless bodies hurrying to work surrounding him. He didn’t have the strength to go with the mob flow.

Thank goodness he didn’t have to come in until the afternoon. In anticipation of Valentine’s Day, Cassandra gave the entire office the morning off. It was the closest thing to being romantic she allowed herself to be.

When he finally regained enough strength to make it to the bathroom, he opened his eyes and raised his head just in time to catch a glimpse of a shirtless man in sweats with a messy mop of brown hair, a perpetual scruff on his jaw, and the greenest eyes known to man. He sauntered out from the right side of the apartment toward the common room and kitchen at the center. They should really make it illegal for hot men to wear sweats that hung low on their hips.

“Tommy,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

Tomas Barcelona, his roommate and current face of Hugo Boss, gave him the panty melting grin that got him scouted to become a male model. “Shoot’s done. I’ll be in the city for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week before hitting the runways of PFW. Plus, I’m sneaking in a job Cassandra wants me to do for Rebel.”

And that, in a nutshell, was his schedule, which Milo should have known had he been less . . . distracted.

“The American Body Shoot,” he said as his brain began functioning again. Not at optimal levels, but nothing a shower and lots of fluids couldn’t fix. He’d completely forgotten that their jobs meshed. Tommy was currently the top model at his agency, which kept him busy. Every designer who had a men’s line wanted him to walk their runway. For Mercedes-Benz alone he was walking for Armani, Hugo Boss, and Brioni.

The memory of how Kaz’s lips felt on his had him staggering against the door for support, his hand coming up to touch his suddenly tingling mouth. Jesus. So all of it wasn’t just a dream. Had he really hit on one of their clients?

“Oh God,” he whispered into his hand. All the blood rushed from his face to congregate at the pads of his feet. How he was still standing escaped him.

“You look like s**t,” Tommy said. “No, you look like what comes out of shit.”

Remembering he wasn’t alone, he pushed away from the door, staggering forward. No point in hiding the cause of his current state from his best friend.

“I ran into Celeste last night.”

Tommy whistled, low and long. He placed his hands on his hips, further emphasizing the V of muscle that men and women alike lost their minds over. Kaz had one of those too. Milo mentally slapped himself when Tommy asked, “And?”

“She’s engaged.”

“Whoa.” He wiped a hand down his face. “On the same night she—”

“No . . . I don’t know . . . maybe.” Milo shook his head to clear the urge to find himself at the bottom of yet another tequila bottle. “Anyway, I spent the rest of the night at Santino.”

“And you’re just getting back now?” His best friend moved closer. “You should have called me.”

Milo shrugged off the hand Tommy rested on his shoulder. “I just need a couple aspirin and a nap. I’m fine.” The skepticism on his roommate’s chiseled features forced him to add, “Thanks for the concern. I really appreciate it.”

“Judging from the way you look right now, you’re still hung up on her.” He crossed his arms and scowled. The pose was magazine spread ready. Sometimes, it hurt looking at him.

Without hesitation, he pulled his best friend into a tight embrace. At the lowest point of his life, Tommy had been there. He ended the lease in his place and moved into the apartment they shared now. He fed Milo when he forgot to eat because he was too consumed with grief to do more than stay in bed. He covered for him with Cassandra when he'd missed work. And he had been the one who had convinced Milo there was life after Celeste.

“I should have come home earlier,” Tommy whispered against his neck. “I should have been here yesterday knowing what day it was.”

"You were in Bulgaria shooting the Spring/Summer catalog for Hugo Boss."

The hard lines on Tommy’s face had softened when he pulled back so they could look each other in the face. “My job is to worry about you then report back to your mother.”

“This tag team you have with her is creepy, you know that, right?”

"Cut me some slack, will you?" Tommy finally lets him go and stepped back, grimacing. “You know no one can say no to the queen of the models. Your mother is an icon everyone aspires to become. Even the guys revere her. So when she asks you to look out for her precious son you do it without question or you get black-balled.”

An amused snort escaped Milo before he could think to suppress it. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I would really appreciate it if you’d leave this particular incident out of your weekly reports to Her Majesty.” He ran his fingers through his ratty hair. He needed a shower badly. “She’s already worried enough. Worrying her more about something this insignificant may mess with her health.” Yeah, he played the recovery card and wasn’t ashamed of it if it got him what he wanted, which was Tommy scratching the back of his head and nodding somberly. “Good. Thanks.”

As he turned on his heel to go in search of painkillers and a shower, Tommy said, “Wanna head into Rebel together?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m thinking greasy Chinese food for lunch?”

“Perfect.”

Milo headed toward his side of their place and straight into his bathroom. He leaned both hands on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Tommy had been right. He looked like what s**t crapped out. Thank goodness for small miracles that he made his escape from Kaz’s apartment before he saw him this way. Bags under his eyes. Overnight scruff—the unsexy kind. And chapped lips. Not to mention the hair.

Not that Milo ever planned on seeing the man again. He said he was Kenji's silent partner. Being at the shoot yesterday might be a one-time thing. At least, he prayed it would be because he didn't know what he would do or how he would react if they ran into each other again. The reaction of his c**k to the mere thought of seeing him was warning enough that he was stepping into dangerous territory.

He slapped his sallow cheeks with both hands to wake himself up further. He had no time to play around if he wanted to succeed Cassandra as editor-in-chief. He opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the white aspirin bottle. He popped two into his mouth and threw his head back, dry swallowing. Then he ran the shower. While the water warmed, he stripped out of his clothes, placing the suit and shirt on a hanger for dry cleaning and dumping his boxer briefs into the waiting hamper.

Once fully naked, he stepped into the welcome spray and picked up the bar of soap from the holder on the tiled wall. As he lathered up he noticed a purple mark on the inside of his right thigh. The final memory he’d been avoiding since coming home returned with a vengeance. Kaz’s lips around his d**k, sucking him off. The bastard left him a souvenir.

“Fuck.”

***

Fed and feeling like a human again, Milo stepped out of the elevator with Tommy by his side. This time, no confetti rain greeted him. Damn if he didn’t breathe a sigh of relief at that. For the entire commute, enduring the stares everyone they passed gave Tommy, he worried his bottom lip. He didn’t know exactly how he felt about everything that happened with Kaz. He definitely found him unbelievably attractive, if he was being completely honest with himself. But the two of them weren’t meant to be. Milo wasn’t about to derail his career for another relationship that could potentially ruin him in the end.

No.

The mark would heal in time. As long as he didn’t look at that part of his body, he could pretend it didn’t exist. That what happened last night was nothing but a wet dream.

At the sight of his best friend, Kasey whipped her head up from behind reception and beamed. “Welcome back, Mr. Barcelona,” she greeted in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Tommy leaned against the counter and spoke in that husky whisper he reserved for all women. “Hey, Kasey. Missed me?”

“You’re looking particularly yummy today,” Garret said, seeming to materialize out of thin air.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Garret,” Milo admonished. “I swear you must have some kind of alarm that goes off the second Tommy enters the building.”

Garret didn’t even bother taking his eyes away from Tommy, taking in the distressed jeans, white T, and leather jacket he walked out of the apartment in. “I guess that tracking chip is working very well.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “Unlike you three flirts, I have work to do. Any messages, Kasey?”

It took him slapping the counter several times to get her to acknowledge his question.

“No messages. Cassandra isn’t in yet,” she said in an annoyed tone, as if giving Milo her undivided attention was a chore when it could be lavished on the perfect specimen of man-flesh standing before her.

“Thank you,” he said, pursing his lips and shaking his head.

As she stuck her tongue out at him, he turned and made his way to his desk. A crystal vase loaded with pristine white calla lilies waited for him with a card stuck between the blooms.

“Kasey,” he called out, not taking his gaze away from the arrangement. Could it be Valentine’s Day leftovers? Ugh! Let the torture end already. “What the hell is this? For Cassandra?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” she said distractedly from her perch. “Those arrived for you this morning.”

Who the hell would send him flowers?

He reached for the card and pulled it out of the plastic holder. It didn’t have an envelope so all he had to do was flip it open.

Inside the note, in a masculine scrawl, were the words: You Are Mine.